Tom walked up to his house, thankful that his trip home was uneventful. Now that he lost his pants, apparently his keys went with them. But it was okay because there was always a spare underneath a nearby rock. He uncovered it and used it.
Fortunately for Tom, no one was home. He was trying his best to wrap his mind around all this on his own. He didn't want further complications.
"So, this is your house, huh?" Jon said, walking in behind him. Tom glared at him. Jon was the last person he wanted with him in his own house, but at the same time he felt that he needed his company. Despite the fact that he had changed Tom into his worst nightmare, he was probably the only person that could completely understand his situation.
Tom looked around the living room and noticed that something was missing. All of his pictures. His mom and dad made it a point to show off their son every chance they got. He was one of the leading athletes at the high school. Was.
The only picture he found of himself was the family portrait in the hallway leading to his bedroom. It was a few years old, but he was definitely in it. Although, he seemed a bit different. Thinner, paler, and with black messy hair.
At the end of the hall was a mirror and on his way to his bedroom, Tom stopped and stared at it. The image staring back at him really was a nightmare. He had already noticed his change in clothing after Jon turned him into a Goth: a fishnet shirt, a black leather under-bust corset, a long black leather skirt, and black boots. But what he didn't notice before was everything he couldn't see. His hair was now black and formed into six-inch spikes which stuck up in all directions. He had several piercings in his ears, nose, and eyebrow. He wore two spiked collars around his neck. And he wore black eyeliner and black lipstick. Lipstick. No wonder Lindsay was scared of him. He was a total freak. Even more so than Jon.
Jon coughed, breaking Tom out of his thoughts. He turned around and saw Jon walking into his bedroom, and he followed.
All his furniture was still in the same place, but there was so much else that was different. All his walls were painted black, his curtains were black, his bed was black wrought-iron with black sheets. All his sports posters were gone, replaced with posters of metal rock bands and modern vampire movies, like Underworld and Blade. The rest of his furniture was the same, but covering his dresser, nightstand, and desk were sheets of black felt. And sitting here and there were several black candles.
Tom sat down on his bed and put his head in his hands. This was his life now? For the first time in years, he felt like crying.
Jon walked over to the closet and opened it. "Looks like I was right," he said.
Tom looked up, wondering what he meant. Then he stood up and looked in his closet himself. He was hoping that he could get rid of the skirt he was wearing and swap it for some pants. But there were no pants. Just skirts. Black worn skirts, leather skirts (like the one he was currently wearing), vinyl skirts, and ripped skirts (like the one Jon was currently wearing). He also saw what Jon was talking about. Tom saw several corsets. Some under-bust, and some not. Corsets? Skirts? What was he? Some kind of gothic cross-dresser? No way was he going to wear this stuff. He'd have to find a way to get normal clothes. But he wouldn't dare step one foot into the mall dressed as he was.
As he was looking over the rest of his closet's contents, mostly fishnet and nylon shirts and his other pairs of boots, loud metal music blasted from behind him, nearly stopping his heart. He spun around and saw Jon standing next to his stereo.
"Turn that off!" he yelled.
Jon walked towards him. "Why? This is your favorite music now." He held up a CD case, showing him.
Tom held his hands over his ears to muffle the music (in Tom's opinion, it sounded more like noise than music), but Jon pulled them down, forcing Tom to listen.
When will the torture stop? he wondered.
